


Petyr Baelish and the Drunken King

by ingoldamn



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cracky, F/M, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, also gratuitous (mis)use of the word 'groovy', and my extremely dumb sense of humour, and wrote this, basically i just got bored at work, but it was funny to write, don't know what the fuck happened, even tho i don't, for everyone, has nothing to do with the established canon, i pretend to know smth about hippies, i really really don't, is also insanely ooc, like this makes literally no sense, mentions of nudity, so please bear with me, tho nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 00:48:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1725041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingoldamn/pseuds/ingoldamn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petyr Baelish hates his life. He is chief advisor to king Robert Baratheon, who is always drunk, and tries desperately to make the king's new Hand, Ned Stark, do some actual work. Unfortunately, Ned Stark is stuck in the 1960's and always moaning about his wife.</p><p>Also featuring things such as Cersei and Jaimie Lannister jumping out of a window, Margaery declaring herself queen of Westeros, people drinking red wine on the floor by the Iron Throne, and naked Loras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petyr Baelish and the Drunken King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sinnetsophia](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sinnetsophia).



> I don't know what happened. Please forgive me for this. Or leave a message and tell me you had fun reading it. I sure had fun writing it.

Petyr Baelish hated his life.

He wasn’t entirely certain how he’d gotten to this point, but after more than thirty years in service to king Robert Baratheon, the ’how’ didn’t really seem to matter much anymore.

Robert Baratheon was a drunk, who seemed to think he could still party like teenager, despite being in his fifties.

Petyr had hoped that the arrival of Robert’s best friend, Ned Stark, who was to take up the mantle of the king’s Hand, would have meant some changes to Robert’s behaviour, but no such luck.

In fact, everything had gotten worse. While Robert seemed to have evolved with the times, so to speak, Ned appeared to be stuck in the sixties still. With his long hair and beard, tie-dyed t-shirts and flannel pants (seriously, who even wore those kind of clothes anymore?), and his entirely outdated hippie-slang, Ned Stark was a vision from the past. His first words, upon arriving at the Red Keep, was ’groovy, man’. Exactly what he was talking about was unclear, but as he left his car filled to the brim with heavy, sweet-scented smoke, Petyr decided not to put too much thought into it.

Robert and Ned greeted each other with exagerated bro-hugs and even more slang from the sixties/seventies.

On Monday morning the council met at eight o’clock sharp and even, Petyr was delighted to see, Ned Stark had shown up, sober as can be. However, Petyr’s hopes of a sensible meeting was quickly ruined, as Ned Stark’s entire vocabulary seemed to consist of ’groovy, man’, while Renly Baratheon’s only words were ’yeah, bro’ or ’nah, bro’ or some variation thereupon. Grandmaester Pycelle snored quietly to himself in his chair, and Lord Varys kept asking irrelevant questions, such as ’when is this meeting over?’ and ’why couldn’t Oberyn be here? He’s cool!’ – a sentiment which Renly agreed with.

In the end, Petyr asked them all to leave, so that he could get some paperwork done, and he spent two productive hours alone in his study. When the time came at last to find the king and the hand, and have them sign the final papers, Petyr had almost convinced himself that it would be completely painless. He was, of course, wrong.

He found Robert and Ned in the throne room, sitting next to each other on the floor in front of the Iron Throne, sharing a bottle of red wine and something that looked like a very large cigarette and smelled like not-a-cigarette.

’D’you r’member Woodstock, man?’ Ned asked, staring into space, and taking a swig from the bottle.

’… Vag’ley…’ Robert muttered in return, taking a huge puff from the joint.

’Tha’s where I met Cat,’ Ned said, and his staring-into-space turned maudlin suddenly, ’I miss Cat…’

’Yo, bros,’ said a voice then, from somewhere behind the Iron Throne, and then Renly’s ’secret’ lover (no, really, who did they think they were fooling?), Loras Tyrell, showed his golden curls, ’don… don… don’t hog the weed, man…’

’Come out and get it, boy,’ answered Robert and took another puff from the joint. Ned took it from him and took a puff himself.

’… I will, then…’ Loras said, and, with steely determination written all over his face, he stepped out from behind the throne, naked as the day he’d been born. Petyr cleared his throat.

’Your grace,’ he said, trying desperately to get the king’s attention, while Loras ripped the joint from Ned’s hand and took a puff.

’Loras… my darling, my… sweet… my.. love,’ said Renly’s voice then, also from behind the throne, ’I miss you.’

’Coming, my love,’ said Loras, though his voice was slightly distorted due to the smoke, ’thanks, bro,’ he added and handed the joint back to Ned. Then he quickly ran back to Renly behind the throne.

’Anytime, man,’ answered Ned and went back to talking about his wife.

’Your grace, please,’ Petyr tried again and this time he got the king’s attention, though not quite the way he wanted to.

’Yes, Baelish, you dimwit?’ Robert queried. Ned huffed out a laugh.

’Nice one, bro.’

’Thanks.’

Petyr rolled his eyes.

’Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, Robert. Rob. Robbie. Robert,’ Ned said and Robert turned his watering eyes to his best friend.

’Yeah, man?’

’Do you… do you…’ Ned burped. Loudly. Robert laughed. Ned continued: ’do you think Cat would like it here in King’s Landing?’

’I think your cat would love King’s Landing,’ Robert answered. Ned shook his head.

’No, no, not my cat – my Cat! My wife!’

’… you married your cat?’ Robert asked then, surprise evident in his eyes. Ned made a disgusted face.

’Ew, no. Catelyn, my wife is named… Catelyn, but I call her Cat, see?’

’Oh. Right.’ Robert said. ’What was your question again?’ Ned stared into space again.

’… I don’t think I asked anything…’

Petyr cleared his throat again, feeling a headache coming on from the smoke and the innate stupidity surrounding him.

’Your grace, if you could please sign these papers…’ he held out the papers and a pen.

’’Ey!’ said the king, ’you’re Petyr Baelish!’

’Yes, your grace. I am Petyr Baelish.’

’Would’ja look at that, Ned! It’s Petyr Baelish!’ Stark jerked up, looking for all the world as if he’d been on the edge of sleep.

’Whazzat?’

’Petyr Baelish, right there!’

’Petyr Baelish?’

’Petyr Baelish.’

’… Petyr. Baelish?’

’Petyr Baelish.’

’Littlefinger Petyr Baelish?’

’Hah! Tha’s the one, bro!’ They turned their red-rimmed, watery gazes on Petyr. ’I’s Littlefinger!’

’… Please, don’t call me that, your grace…’ Petyr said, with as much dignity as he could muster.

’Come, ’ave a drink wi’ us, Li’lfinger,’ the king said, holding out the bottle of wine (Arbor Red, as it said on the label). Petyr shook his head.

’No, thank you, your grace.’ The king jumped up, swayed on the spot, and sat down again.

’Li’lfinger refuses to drink wi’ ’is king! Somebody, do sumthing!’

’No one wants to drink with you, you big ugly lump!’ said Queen Cersei, appearing out of nowhere.

’Be quiet, woman!’ shouted the king, just as his littlebrother cried, still hidden behind the throne: ’I will drink with you, Robert!’ Queen Cersei rolled her eyes and jumped out a window, followed by her twin brother, Jaimie. Ned Stark sighed heavily and said:

’I hope Cat gets here soon. I miss her. Her hair smells like strawberrys, did you know that, Robert?’

’Quiet about your cat, Ned,’ said Robert dismissively and turned to Petyr.

’What was it you wanted, Li’lfinger?’

’I…’ Petyr started, only to be interrupted by the sound of trumpets outside. The door to the throne room was banged open and in came the beautiful Margaery Tyrell.

’Hello, lads,’ she said sweetly, ’I’m the queen now. I hope you saved some of that wine for me.’ Without a word, Robert held out the bottle to her.

Petyr, sensing that his presence was no longer needed, turned and left the room, while Margaery got comfortable on the Iron Throne.

The last thing he saw, before closing the door behind him, was Margaery petting her brother’s hair, with the young Sansa Stark in her lap. The last thing he heard was Ned Stark saying something about how ‘groovy’ his wife was.

Yes, Petyr Baelish definitely hated his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I am really very sorry about this.
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://fratboy-of-orome.tumblr.com) if you wanna ask me about my Sins TM


End file.
